


SoloStarfighter77 is Coming

by HarpiaHarpyja



Series: A Song of Trash and Fire [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Chewbacca is a Dog, Coffee Shop Meetcute, College AU, Enemies to Friends, Engineering Major Rey, English Major Ben, F/M, Gen, Han Solo: Cantankerous Auto Shop Owner, High School AU, Inappropriate Use of Feminine Hygiene Products, Once Upon a Time in Philadelphia, Secret AIM Chats, Secret MySpace Chats, TW: Blood, The Millennium Falcon is a Buick Skyhawk, teenage hijinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpiaHarpyja/pseuds/HarpiaHarpyja
Summary: A companion story to A Song of Trash and Fire: Ben and Rey Make a Porno , serving as a totally optional chapter 9.5.Let’s take it back to 2008, when Rey and Ben were dumb teens who still sort of hated each other. Featuring MySpace friending debacles, the origins of the Buick Skyhawk, a literal coffee shop meetcute, and the time Rey sliced Ben’s face open at the 2008 Phillies World Championship Parade.





	SoloStarfighter77 is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> This week's preview serves as another venture into character backstory - Rey and Ben weren't always basically-already-married roommates. Follow the year they finally started to put their teenage bullshit behind them and eke out the friendship that would one day inspire The Greatest Porno Ever Made.

** OCTOBER 2007 **

Two hours. Rey could count on having another two hours in the school library, maybe three if she was lucky. That was as long as Finn’s football practice lasted, and as long as she had until she needed to catch the late bus with him back to Plutt’s.

She had a countdown for Plutt’s, too, though it was profoundly more depressing: 315 days, give or take, until she’d be out and on her own. That was a good thing—it was just so far off. She’d have a tiny, cozy apartment to herself. Or, more likely given the size of her savings, a tinier, less cozy dorm room. Maybe she could even get a place with Finn. Whatever, she would take it. But first, she needed to get into college.

That was why she spent most days after school in the library. She studied, or worked on extra-credit projects, or tried to get ahead in the syllabi, or attended club meetings. It had served her well for the last three years, and she was determined that it serve her well for her senior year, too. It would need to, if she was going to snag enough scholarship offers and financial aid to see her through. 

But she’d been here an hour now, and her brain needed a break. Yawning and stretching her arms above her head, Rey abandoned a stack of chemistry books and moseyed over to one of the computer consoles. She checked her e-mails; nothing interesting. An agenda for an upcoming group project, ads, replies to some inquiries about scholarship requirements—she’d have to check that before she left for the evening. Satisfied, she plugged in her earbuds and watched some videos on YouTube. (A few hundred inmates doing the Thriller dance? Surprisingly entertaining!)

But that became boring soon enough, and so she checked the time (she was fine, she could mess around like this for a few more minutes before getting back to work) and switched over to MySpace. It had been a while since she last logged in, mostly because she didn’t always have time. Even so, it was disappointing to find she had no new messages. Though it looked like someone had been very busy liking some photos she had added last time she was online. 

She’d spent a Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago at a local car show and filled her camera with photos of her favorite models. Beautiful classics, perfectly maintained, cared for and attended to by people who were passionate about them. The photos weren’t great, because it was an old, shitty camera, but she was proud of them anyway, and looking at them never failed to cheer her up. So she was curious to see who else might share her feelings on the subject. She brought up the first photo. Sure enough, it had been liked ten minutes ago by . . .

**Solo_Starfighter77**

Huh. She knew that name, and she didn’t like it. Ben Solo was on her friends list because most kids at their school friended their classmates, and because she had been assigned to a group project with him last month in their AP lit class. But he was not her friend. He was a thorn in her side and had been since they first clashed over . . . she honestly couldn’t remember what, three years ago. Ever since then there seemed to be no excuse they wouldn’t take to snipe at each other, or, more often, be outright antagonistic. By now she considered it admirable progress that they hadn’t had a public argument in the halls since early last year. That one had escalated into a full-out screaming match outside the gymnasium and ended with her lobbing a badminton racket at his head. 

To be fair, the fact that they’d both been saddled with a week’s worth of detentions for it was likely the real cause of their ceasefire. She could not have stuff like that on her transcripts. Neither could he, she supposed, even if she was pretty sure his parents would just pay for him to go anywhere he pleased.

Anyway, he had no right to be on MySpace freely liking her photos. Well, no reason. Rey scrunched her face and clicked the next one. Liked by him. And the next. And two more in the set of ten or so she had uploaded. Should she unfriend him? Maybe. 

Instead, she opened up the messaging tab and typed out a quick note to him.

_solo. what are you doing? get off my page._

With a satisfied smile, she clicked _Send_. That would show him.

She should really have just logged off afterwards. She had to finish that chemistry chapter, and then she had to start outlining a paper for her world history course. But she wanted to wait and see if he replied. It was a weird, morbid curiosity for sure. He was online, though—it said so right there. 

Rey stared at the pictures while she waited and compulsively glanced at the menu that would tell her she had a new message. This was stupid. Who cared if he liked her photos? He was probably doing it ironically, to make fun of her. He was the type who _would_ do that; not that sarcasm was communicable via such a medium but . . . it didn’t matter. She didn’t owe him anything. Okay, she was going to log off and get back to work in three, two, . . . 

She had a new message from Solo_Starfighter77.

_What are you talking about?_

Unbelievable. Rey knew she should just not dignify him with a response, check that e-mail about the scholarships, and head back to the tables. But she couldn’t help it. She felt territorial, so she replied.

_stop liking my photos_

And that was enough. She glanced at the table behind her, where her books were spread out to claim some serious study real estate. Library space wasn’t in such high demand at this point in the day, when the majority of students were either home, at sports practice, or in other classrooms for club activities, but it didn’t hurt to secure her own area. Still, maybe she could just . . . grab her books and work here in front of the computer. Keep an eye on any messages that might come in, from people she actually liked.

Five minutes later, she was doing just that, the keyboard pushed slightly off center, her chemistry notes open as she worked on some flashcards. Her eyes, every so often, darted to the monitor. He’d replied. She made herself finish her chapter before she checked it.

 _Oh, is this about the cars? Was that seriously a Boss 9? Crazy._  
_Those are really hard to find._  
_I mean the Mustang, by the way. The red one. In the fourth photo. It’s a Boss 429._

What a patronizing prick. Did he think she hadn’t been aware of what she was photographing? Probably because she was a girl, and girls didn’t like cars; or if they did, they were obviously just pretending to impress guys. Rey groaned audibly, then remembered where she was and checked to make sure she hadn’t disturbed anyone. She was alone.

_yes it’s about the cars. and i know what a boss 9 is. obviously. also, it was royal maroon. not red. why?_

It as another thirty minutes until he replied, and in that time Rey finished her flashcards and had started making some admirable headway into her history paper outline. She liked to think that his delay was due to wounded pride at being corrected by her. _Good._ For being so annoyed, she was managing to be quite productive. Maybe she ought to tell Solo to message her more often, if this was the effect it had on her. 

Wait, what? Ew. No. 

Reluctantly, she opened the new message, but not before promising herself this was the last time she would reply for the day. If he kept messaging her, he’d just have to wait until she had access to the computer again. Probably a few days.

_I didn’t know there was a show. Where was it?_

Ugh, why? 

_it was last month. lincoln financial parking lot._

And, that was it. She had about forty minutes left here: crunch time. Communications with one SoloStarfighter77, also known as Ben Solo, hereby ceasing for the day. Weekend. Preferably for as long as possible. There were no car shows coming up anytime soon, and even if there was, the likelihood she’d find the time again was slim. Which meant Solo was officially out of reasons to contact her. 

Rey looked longingly at the photo of the Boss 9 for a few more moments—God, how nice it must be to have the sort of funds for a beauty like that—then clicked the browser shut. She had work to do.

** JANUARY 2008 **

Ben narrowed his eyes at his laptop screen and chewed the inside of his cheek. He realized a few moments later that he was doing so and made himself stop. He’d basically shredded the right side last week when he’d stayed up too late writing and then woken up from a nightmare when he finally did try to sleep, so the least he could do was leave the left alone when he had the wherewithal. Besides, it was a nervous habit. And he had nothing to be nervous about right now. He’d been talking to Rey online for months, on and off.

It had started when she’d messaged him on MySpace ( _she_ had messaged _him_ , he reminded himself). That conversation had sprawled very slowly over the span of a few weeks, and at some point around the holiday break they’d taken it to AIM. It wasn’t really consistent, but he blamed her for that. She wasn’t online very much at all, and when she was it was nearly always right after school. That was weird, like her—and like how they never actually talked at school, or even really acknowledged each other. Which was fine with him. He didn’t need her assaulting him with sports equipment and getting them detentions again. 

But maybe he did have a little bit of a reason to be nervous today. He had a question to ask her, and it involved something he considered sensitive and important. The fact that he could have asked anyone else, someone he was actually friends with, but was asking _her_ seemed moot; she was the best person for the job. Simple as that. And she was online now, and she rarely messaged him first, so he had to act soon, before she signed off for who knew how long. Once, it had been over a week. He didn’t have that kind of time.

How to phrase this, though?

**SoloStarfighter77:** Hey Scavenger.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** Got a minute?

 _Nice_. Ben sat back and glanced at the bottom of his screen, where a Word document sat open, finished and read over so many times by him that he knew he no longer had objectivity. He needed a second opinion. Which was where Rey came in. Hopefully. He cranked up the Misfits and tapped a fingernail off-rhythm against his desk.

She replied fairly quickly, for her.

**ScavengingAngel725:** dont call me that  
**ScavengingAngel725:** i have some time. wuts up

Ben cringed a little at her chosen style of communication. It was 2008—who still used that type of netspeak seriously? Why did she hate punctuation so much? He was in the middle of typing his reply when he heard claws clicking urgently on the floor. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see a blur of shaggy brown fur make a running start and leap up onto his bed. 

“Ugh, Chewie . . . come on . . .” He knew it was already too late, and that the dog always helped himself to whatever surface he pleased, but it still felt imperative that he at least make a bid for some obedience. Instead, he’d be brushing fur off his bedspread later, and probably still waking up with it in his mouth in the morning. Ben waved a hand in defeat at Chewie, who already looked like he was halfway to a good nap, and returned his attention to the computer. What had he been about to say . . . ?

**SoloStarfighter77:** You picked the name, not me.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** I want to ask you a favor.

**ScavengingAngel725:** did it occur to u that namecalling isn’t a great way to start then?

She had a point. He hadn’t meant it to be mean. And she _had_ chosen her screen name (which was different from both her e-mail address and her MySpace handle, which was a pain in the ass to remember). Whatever. 

**SoloStarfighter77:** Guess not. 

**ScavengingAngel725:** wut do u want?

At least she was curious. He’d see how long that lasted. Ben chugged the rest of his Gatorade and chucked the empty bottle toward his trash can, where it landed with a satisfying hollow clunk. 

**SoloStarfighter77:** Would you mind reading a script for me?  
**SoloStarfighter77:** I wrote it for the spring play contest. Do you know the one?

**ScavengingAngel725:** yeah i know. i should have guessed u would enter. wuts it about?

**SoloStarfighter77:** Read it and find out. I mostly want someone to check it for  
verisimilitude. 

Several minutes passed, and still no reply. Ben began to wonder if something was glitching, making it seem like she was signed on when she wasn’t. She wasn’t even idle. Frustrated, he got up and went down to the kitchen to grab a snack. When he returned with a package of Oreos, a tall glass half-full of milk, and a spoon, he found Chewie waiting next to his chair, tail wagging, as if he’d known that Ben would come back with food. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Ben told him, giving him a consolation scratch behind the ears as he sat down. Rey had replied. About time.

**ScavengingAngel725:** y r u asking me?

Ben stared at that mangled non-answer and had to wonder, why _was_ he asking someone who couldn’t be bothered to type a full sentence with real words? But he already knew the answer to that. He dropped a few cookies into the glass of milk, squashed them down to the bottom with the spoon, and left it to sit.

**SoloStarfighter77:** Two reasons.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** One: We’re not friends. So I can trust you to be objective.

**ScavengingAngel725:** wow thanks

**SoloStarfighter77:** You know what I mean.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** Two: You consistently give the best answers in lit class. That stuff you said about the power of illusion over reality in Albee a few weeks ago was great.

It was a few minutes before she replied again, and Ben had consumed about half the mushy Oreo concoction by the time she did. Chewie groaned in displeasure as it became apparent that Ben really wasn’t going to be sharing.

**ScavengingAngel725:** verisimilitude? lol wutever dude  
**ScavengingAngel725:** how long is ur play? 

Jeez, he’d complimented her. The least she could do was say ‘thanks’.

**SoloStarfighter77:** Three acts. Probably a few hours of reading. I just want to know what you think.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** I know it’s not a small favor. I can repay you with something.

**ScavengingAngel725:** no

**SoloStarfighter77:** OK. Thanks anyway.

Annoyed, he closed the message window and stirred the remains of his snack idly. Well, so much for that. Ben had known it was a long shot. He wasn’t even surprised, just disappointed. He’d meant it when he said they weren’t friends—they _weren’t_ —but he’d thought they were at least on decent enough terms by now for something like this. He wasn’t asking her to do it for nothing, either.

He could ask Phasma, he supposed; she’d be objective, too. But she wouldn't have the same level of _insight_ , which would be annoying. He’d just have to deal with it.

A new message popped up.

 **ScavengingAngel725:** no u dont need to repay me  
**ScavengingAngel725:** for now  
**ScavengingAngel725:** i’ll read ur play  
**ScavengingAngel725:** if i need a favor i’ll let u know and u can do it  
**ScavengingAngel725:** deal?

That all sounded very ominous. As far as Ben had been able to gather, Rey was from a seedy area of the city. He wondered what a “favor” for her might entail, but he’d already offered, and she’d said she would read his script. Realistically, she would probably never ask him for anything at all. They were graduating in a few months, and he doubted he would see her again after that, pending any reunions.

Satisfied, Ben spooned what was left in his glass into his mouth, let Chewie lick the spoon, and typed a businesslike reply.

**SoloStarfighter77:** Deal. I’ll email you the document. Can you have it done by February 5?

 **ScavengingAngel725:** yes. but i need u to print it. leave at my locker tomorrow morning. #808.

He considered asking her why she couldn’t just print it herself, but decided not to make himself more of a pain in the ass than she already thought he was. He’d had good luck here. He didn’t want to push it.

**SoloStarfighter77:** Sure. Thanks. I owe you.

**ScavengingAngel725:** yep. i know

** MARCH 2008 **

**SoloStarfighter77:** Hey. You’re on.  
 **SoloStarfighter77:** Been a while.  
 **SoloStarfighter77:** What’s up?

It was a Thursday afternoon, and Rey was indulging in a brief break from studying. This had been her routine all year, and the year was almost done. For this small fifteen-minute window, she was forcing herself not to feel the urgency of impending graduation and of those college applications she’d sent in and was still waiting on. She’d actually been getting so stressed out about it that she was starting to have bad dreams where she didn’t get accepted _anywhere_ , or where she got accepted and then found out her financial aid hadn’t gone through, or where she got accepted and had to drop out because she’d forgotten everything she’d ever learned. 

She couldn’t wait for this to be over. All she needed was one acceptance and whatever aid came with it, and that would be it. She was certain. She could handle whatever else came up after that. There was no other option. 

Right now, she was _not_ thinking about any of that. Not so long ago, an IM from Ben would have elicited automatic exasperation, followed by reluctant acceptance that he provided a welcome diversion. But really, what was she actually annoyed with him over at this point? They had fairly regular civil conversations. Admittedly, it was all through a screen, and sometimes they still got on each other’s nerves, and none of it was ever about anything of consequence. They didn’t talk about personal things, either, the way friends might. But sometimes it helped to go over something they’d learned in class, or bitch about homework, or gripe about certain teachers.

**ScavengingAngel725:** nothing much. studying.

**SoloStarfighter77:** Weird way to study, on IM.

**ScavengingAngel725:** needed a break. wut r u up to

**SoloStarfighter77:** Also not studying.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** Hey did you see they announced the prom theme?  
**SoloStarfighter77:** ‘Across the Universe’?  
**SoloStarfighter77:** Lame.

Rey snorted. Of course he’d go blabbing his opinions to her without considering she might not be of the same mind. He seemed to be even more prone to doing so after she’d read his script for the school play and left a slew of her own unfiltered thoughts in the margins. Well, he’d won, so clearly, she’d done her job well. And she didn’t really mind. He was obnoxious, but she’d realized he was also honest about what he thought of things. That wasn’t so bad, for the most part.

As for the prom, she had seen the announcement. The posters looked really cool, in her opinion, even if the name was a blatant rip-off of that movie that had come out in the fall—the student council seemed to be taking it in more of an “outer space” direction than a “The Beatles and Vietnam War” direction, which was a plus. Rey could think of plenty of less-inspired ideas.

**ScavengingAngel725:** i dunno. its a little cheesy but its fine. i’m kinda into it.  
**ScavengingAngel725:** the posters looked good  
**ScavengingAngel725:** thought u’d like a space theme

**SoloStarfighter77:** Haha.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** So I guess you are going, in that case?

Rey paused and read that sentence a few times. What was he getting at here? Why had he even brought up prom at all? It was over a month away.

**ScavengingAngel725:** guess again  
**ScavengingAngel725:** not really my thing

In truth, Rey would have loved to go. She and Finn had talked about it, how they imagined prom would be: they would have gone together, probably hung out with Poe and some other friends in their circle, then they’d all cut out early, take the party to someone’s house or even a parking lot, share 40s and McDonald’s and rolls of unbaked cookie dough. But the reality was that prom required, at minimum, a ticket and a dress, and Rey had money for exactly neither of those things. Finn was in the same situation, even if the tux rental probably cost less. At this point in the year, she was in a place where she needed to save every penny she could; not that that was much of a difference for her. If something wasn’t a necessity, she wasn’t spending on it. Prom was 100% not a necessity. 

So their actual plan was to see if they could commandeer the TV at Plutt’s for a movie night. The selection of VHS and DVDs at the home was of questionable quality, and as far as she knew the most recent title was from 1997. Still, she and Finn always managed to make the most of things, and some of the other kids would probably join them. It wasn’t a lavish, self-indulgent party, but it would be fun.

**SoloStarfighter77:** Oh.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** Think you’re too cool for it?

Rey was _fairly_ certain Ben was just joking, because in her limited experience he did indeed do that sometimes (usually when it was least expected), but she wasn’t positive.

**ScavengingAngel725:** nope. not cool enough. obviously  
**ScavengingAngel725:** bet u think ur too cool

**SoloStarfighter77:** No, I’m going. It’s stupid and overpriced, but the after party will probably be worth it.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** You should reconsider. Think of all the precious memories of our classmates getting trashed out of their minds you’ll be missing out on.

**ScavengingAngel725:** lol

Rey really did laugh a little at that, and was immediately given a stern look by the librarian, a short, wizened old woman who always wore baggy white dressed. Rey thought she bore more than a passing resemblance to a frog.

 **ScavengingAngel725:** sounds classy  
**ScavengingAngel725:** u planning to be one of them?

**SoloStarfighter77:** You’ll never know now.

**ScavengingAngel725:** doubt id be invited to any of those parties

**SoloStarfighter77:** Maybe if you knew the right people.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** Well you have plenty of time to change your mind. Tickets are on sale at least a few weeks.

**ScavengingAngel725:** i won’t, but good to know

Rey didn’t want to continue talking about prom. She could appreciate Ben’s cynical view of it, even if she thought he was taking his ability to go for granted. As much as she would have liked to call him out on that—it was a privilege, he had it, and she didn’t—she wasn’t sure how to do so without risking calling attention to _why_ she wasn’t going. Ben was smart. He’d put it together, somehow, even if his conclusion was simply that her family was poor, rather than dead.

He’d already asked her a few weeks ago why she was online so sporadically, and usually only after school. She’d told him she had strict parents. In retrospect, that was a stupid, useless lie. But in the moment the question verged on too personal, and he’d seemed to sense it and changed the subject to cars. She really didn’t want to keep having to dodge details of her life. Today, she’d be the one to change tacks.

**ScavengingAngel725:** speaking of tickets  
**ScavengingAngel725:** saw the play is on for may  
**ScavengingAngel725:** congrats. i don’t think i said already

**SoloStarfighter77:** You didn’t. Thanks.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** And for the help, too.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** You were pretty brutal, but incisive. 

**ScavengingAngel725:** well that is why you asked me

**SoloStarfighter77:** Exactly.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** You going to go see it? Or is that also not your thing?

Rey frowned. This whole talking online thing could be frustrating. She didn’t think he was joking around this time, but it was impossible to tell. Still, she also couldn’t fathom having a conversation like this with him face-to-face. For one thing, she couldn't help automatically reading most of his expressions as arrogance. For another, the only times they crossed paths anymore was in lit class, so to talk to him she’d have to go out of her way. It wasn’t worth it.

**ScavengingAngel725:** i hadnt really thought about it  
**ScavengingAngel725:** i guess maybe

She should just have said no. She had no plans to go to the play. Technically, she might be able to get in for free, if she wanted—she was helping to build some of the set pieces. It was another reason to stay after and not go home, and there was a part of her that was curious to see how it would all come together by May. Despite her merciless margin notes, she did think that, overall, Ben had written a pretty good script.

**SoloStarfighter77:** I don’t really want to, but I think I’m obligated to go to the last show at least.

**ScavengingAngel725:** y don’t u wanna go?

**SoloStarfighter77:** I don't feel like being dragged on stage, which they're going to do.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** Also I talked to the director. The drama club moderator.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** He seems like an asshole. Probably going to miss the point.

Rey rolled her eyes. Just when she was starting to think Ben was sort of okay, he said something like that. She could just see that arrogant face now. Though she supposed it was his right to feel protective of what he had written. It made sense to be apprehensive about seeing another person’s take on it.

**ScavengingAngel725:** o i c  
**ScavengingAngel725:** the perils of being an award winning playwright

**SoloStarfighter77:** Funny.

She checked the time—her fifteen minutes had come and gone. Shit. She hated losing track of what she was doing. Though considering that what she had been doing, in part, was fretting over the future, at least this had successfully diverted her for a while. Mission accomplished.

**ScavengingAngel725:** i gotta get back to work  
**ScavengingAngel725:** i’ll think about the play  
**ScavengingAngel725:** gotta see if u took my advice 

**SoloStarfighter77:** Acceptable.  
**SoloStarfighter77:** See you.

** MAY 2008 **

Ben had managed to duck away from his parents—and their aggressive overtures with the camera—for a little while. However, he was also significantly taller than the majority of the students in his graduating class, so it wasn’t as if he had much hope of hiding easily. Han and Leia would find him soon enough, just as sure as he could see Phasma across the gymnasium. Her graduation cap was perched neatly atop her bright hair, and she was laughing and talking with Bazine, who, as usual, looked hot. He would have to make his way over to them later, and probably grit his teeth through a few photos, but whatever. After today, he wouldn’t have to set foot in this place ever again. Ben didn’t begrudge his high school experience, but he also felt very much that he had outgrown it about two years ago. He was in no hurry to return.

Hoping to extend his minutes of freedom, he slipped out one of the open doors that led to the soccer fields and leaned against the brick wall of the building.

“Oh. Hey.”

Ben looked sharply to his left. He hadn’t even noticed that there was another person here, already leaning as he was now. Her brown hair was pulled back into a messy chignon, the top squashed flat even after being freed from her cap, which she had tucked under one arm; her robes were hanging open to reveal a simple light green dress; her face was freckled and serious. She looked bored, and surprised to see him.

“Rey. Hi.” He considered asking her if she wanted to have the wall to herself, then realized how stupid a question that would be. They weren’t the only people out here to begin with, and she definitely didn’t have more of a right to wall-leaning than he did. “Been out here long?”

“A few minutes. Needed some air.” She glanced at him and then returned her attention to the field, where students and their families talked and roughhoused and took pictures. Basically, everything that was happening inside, but less claustrophobic. Rey looked conspicuously alone by contrast. “What did you think?”

“Of what?”

This felt odd. It was a few moments before Ben could figure out why: he and Rey hadn’t had a conversation in person like this . . . ever, actually. They’d exchanged words face-to-face, but never exactly in the style one might consider friendly. They argued, fought, sniped, or yelled, or they impersonally addressed each other in the controlled environment of class discussions. There was the whole online chatting thing, but that almost seemed to exist in its own plane of reality, for all that they ever acknowledged it. Graduation likely marked the end of it.

“The ceremony.” Her nose scrunched with distaste. “I thought it was way too long.”

“Oh, yeah. Same.” Ben ducked his head and looked over at the door he had just emerged from, then dug a toe into the grass. “Let me guess, you're escaping from parental interference, too.”

Rey had mentioned some time ago that her parents were strict. Evidently that meant they didn't let her online very much, or possibly even own a computer. Since then, every time they chatted, Ben had been unable to keep himself from forming theories—her parents were humorless, uptight, maybe weirdly religious, maybe didn’t have much in the way of money. Part of him was a little curious to see them here. 

Rey just looked alarmed, and though the expression was fleeting, he caught it. She shrugged. “No. They're not here.”

Weird. Shitty, actually. Suddenly, despite the fact that Ben had no investment in the family of a classmate who he probably wouldn't see again after today, he sort of hated her parents a little. What kind of assholes didn't come to their kid’s high school graduation? He might butt heads with his parents more and more lately, but they were _here_ , and he didn’t doubt that it was because they cared about him.

He didn't say that, though. Instead he just said, “Oh,” which was hardly helpful and only brought on a full minute of awkward silence as they stood there, side by side, watching the field and squinting in the sunlight. Ben was about to wish Rey luck with whatever and head back inside, but suddenly she spoke up.

“What are your plans after all this? Are you going to college?” She sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah. Yes. Penn,” he said, doing little to conceal how pleased he was with that. Let Hux gloat over Brown—who cared about Rhode Island?

Rey tutted. “Wow. Ivy league. Impressive.” The way she said it made him think she didn't find it so impressive at all, but she didn't give him time to dwell on that. “Studying what?”

“English. Maybe a minor in creative writing or medieval studies or something. I haven't decided that yet.”

She nodded and didn't say anything, perhaps surprised that he’d given more than just a one-word answer. He’d had this same discussion with so many other people by now, the answers came automatically. Still, Ben felt distinctly that she was silently passing judgment, though for what he didn't know. 

“You?” he prompted after a few more moments.

“I’m going to study mechanical engineering.”

He knew she was involved in the robotics club, so it seemed to fit. It sounded ambitious. He doubted she got the same looks from people as he did when he told them his area of study, or that ever present question: _And what are you going to do with that—teach?_ But she had skipped a detail. 

“Where?”

She gave a snort of laughter. “Not Penn, that’s for sure.”

Evidently that was the only answer he was getting on that front, because she just stared up at him a little smugly, like his day was hinging on whether she told him the name of the school she was attending. For lack of anything else to say, he ventured, “Are you waiting for me to guess?”

“Not holding my breath,” she said with a shake of her head. “But go on, if you want.”

“Hm. Okay, how about—”

“Hah! Found you! Hey, Rey!”

Ben and Rey turned in unison toward the door, where Finn was poking his head out, his gaze fixed on her. Ben didn’t really know him; Phasma did, at least as far as rivalry went. All Ben knew was that he was quite athletic, and possibly Rey’s boyfriend. Anytime he caught sight of Rey in the halls, she was nearly always with Finn, so he’d sort of just assumed.

“Oh!” Rey’s eyes were wide, and she looked slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, just looking for some fresh air. It’s stuffy in there.”

“Yeah, it is,” Finn agreed, maintaining his post by the door. He cast a confused look at Ben, then focused back on Rey. “Some of the kids wanna get pictures with me and you, unless you’re busy?”

She shook her head again and gave Ben a look that almost seemed apologetic as he tried to figure out what the hell “the kids” meant. “No, not busy. Was just about to come back in.” The smile she gave Ben was a little tight but sincere enough, and she held out her hand for him to shake. It was so bizarrely formal, like they were calling a truce or closing a business deal, that he clasped hers right back without a thought. “Have a nice life, Ben Solo.”

“Oh.” Ben laughed shortly and nodded. It sounded so final. Maybe that was appropriate. “Thanks. Good luck at Not-Penn.”

Her smile loosened into a grin, and she shuffled off to join Finn. As they disappeared into the building, he could have sworn he overheard Finn say, “Were you just hanging out with Solo? I thought you couldn’t stand him . . . “

God, Ben was ready to get out of here.

** JULY 2008 **

It was a gray Buick Skyhawk, it was desperately run-down, and it was perfect. Not about to win any beauty contests, sure, and in great need of T.L.C. But Rey liked a project. So, the car was _perfect_. She’d have liked a better look at it, but it was behind a chain link fence and set back from the sidewalk, so she’d need to stop inside the lobby of the auto shop and ask. Maybe it wasn’t for sale; she strongly suspected it wasn’t. But it couldn’t hurt to try, even if she thought the costs to get it in running shape might be more than she could spare.

A soft electronic tone sounded as she opened the front door and stepped through into a small waiting area. She noticed a few plastic chairs, a potted plant, a squat magazine rack studded with worn-looking periodicals, a half-empty coffee pot set to warm, and a currently unmanned front desk. The walls weren’t decorated much, but a calendar hanging to her left still indicated that it was June (despite the fact that today was the sixth of July), and one wall had a few award plaques and run-of-the-mill images of classic car models. She figured whoever was currently on-duty would be up soon enough, alerted to her presence by the tone she’d heard as she entered. In the meantime, she could make herself useful. Leaning a little over the desk, she reached up for the calendar to change it to the appropriate month.

“Can I help you?”

Rey jumped as a man stepped through the doorway behind the desk and interrupted her just as she’d finally managed to get the calendar off the hook it was hanging from. In her surprise, she dropped it on the floor and scrambled to retrieve it. When she straightened up with it in hand, the man was standing there looking at her with an expression of mild amusement. Possibly also a hint of irritation. For some reason, he struck her as familiar. She’d never been here before, though—hadn’t even checked what the place was called—so she couldn’t see why.

“I’ll take that,” he said, holding out his hand for the calendar. “You know, sweetheart, most people just steal the magazines.”

She handed it over with a frown. “I wasn’t stealing it. I was fixing it. June ended almost a week ago.” 

This was most definitely not the right way to establish a potential business relationship. She _wanted_ that car and would be better served by making a good impression on the people who worked at the place that owned it. But Rey also hated being accused of stealing, especially in such a condescending manner. _Sweetheart_? Not to mention, that was pretty presumptuous of him; who the hell would steal a cheap-looking calendar?

Now that the shock of his address had worn off, she took him in a bit better. He was middle-aged, old enough to be her father, at least; tall but not remarkably so; gray-haired and weathered and little disheveled; pretty handsome, though, if she’d been into older guys. _Still_ reminded her of someone. Maybe an actor. 

“Ah.” He looked vaguely apologetic but just shrugged as he glanced at the calendar and flipped it back open, this time to the proper month. “Right.” Turning to replace it on the wall, he gave her a sidelong look. “Well then, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to know how much you’re asking for that Skyhawk out there,” Rey told him, keeping her voice firm but congenial. “The gray one in the lot?”

The man’s eyes narrowed and he fixed Rey with his full attention, hands going to his hips. “That old ‘89 Buick? Why? Thing’s probably older than you are.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong on that point. Still, she wasn’t cowed by his refusal to answer, and she mirrored his posture. “That’s fine. How much is it? I want to buy it, if the price is right.”

“‘If the price is right,’ huh?” The man definitely looked amused now, folding his arms over his chest and issuing a gruff chuckle. “Hate to disappoint you, but it’s not for sale. It doesn’t run—been meaning to fix it up. Got the parts, haven’t found the time. Running this place doesn’t leave me with much.”

Shit. Rey pressed her lips together, briefly flummoxed by the news. Though, she’d not come unprepared for an answer like that. “Would it be for sale if it were fixed up?”

He sighed and massaged his brow. “Well, yeah, I guess so. But it’s not, and like I said, I don’t have the time.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“ _You_ will?” The man was incredulous, and Rey felt her face grow hot. She half expected him to express his disbelief that she could possibly know anything about cars, let alone enough to accomplish whatever repairs this one might need. Frankly, maybe it was beyond her skill set. But she didn’t know that yet, and he certainly didn’t know anything about her at all. Instead, he surprised her. “Think you know your way around a car?”

She swallowed and nodded. “Yes.” 

She could have given him details—years spent with her car-enthusiast grandfather, poking around under hoods, learning how it all worked, getting her hands filthy and greasy and loving every minute. Less happy memories of Plutt appropriating her hard-won skills for his own gain. But she didn’t know this guy, and it really wasn’t his business. “I’ll fix it for you. If you let me buy it from you afterward.”

“A little soon to be setting conditions.” He cleared his throat and stepped back from the desk a pace or two, sizing her up. “What’s your name?”

“I’m—”

“Hey, Han.” 

Another male voice came from the room the man she was speaking to—Han, evidently—had emerged from. A moment later the owner of the new voice followed, and Rey recognized him, though the realization wasn’t immediate. His hair had grown out a bit and was peeking out from beneath a ratty backwards baseball cap, and he wore a slate grey button-down shirt covered in grime, both of which seemed anathema to anything she’d ever seen him wear at school. But yep, that was Ben Solo all right. 

“Did someone move the kneel mats again? I can’t find those or the—” He noticed Rey just as she was deciding she ought to say hello. Judging by the way his mouth sort of hung open mid-word, he was definitely surprised to see her. She could relate. “What are you doing here?” 

Rey thought she could ask him the same, though it was obvious: he worked here. Also, Han jumped in before she could formulate a better response. “Trying to buy the Skyhawk, apparently.”

“Why?” 

“I’m going to fix it,” Rey said before Han could speak over her again. “And then buy it.”

Han grimaced. “Slow down, we never agreed to that. You two know each other?”

“Yeah,” Rey and Ben said simultaneously. She nodded and added, “From school.”

“Oh. Huh.” He looked at Ben, who puffed out his cheeks in a way that reminded her of . . . a face Han had made earlier. Wait, was _that_ why Rey thought Han looked familiar? She glanced at a notepad sitting on the countertop—the top was printed with a logo of two tumbling dice, and the name: Solo Auto and Motor. Well, shit. “She know her stuff, then?”

It irritated Rey to be ignored, but she held her tongue as Ben scratched his neck and stole a look at her. He looked uncomfortable, like she’d just caught him doing something embarrassing. “Yeah. I think so. She’s the one who had that photo of the Boss 9.”

He remembered that? And had shown someone else? That was nice, she supposed, but she didn’t see how it was proof of any skills on her part. Still, she and Ben had talked cars online enough that she thought he probably did have an idea of how serious she was about them, even if it had been months since they’d chatted at all. Rey folded her arms and relaxed a little as she vouched for her own abilities again. 

“I know my stuff. I’ve been doing this for years.”

“Then you know you can find a cheap car that actually runs just about anywhere else, and not have to do any work on it, right?”

“Yes,” Rey admitted. It wasn’t just the price, though. There was something about _that_ car, and something about the way she could truly make it hers. And it would give her a reason other than her waitressing job to spend time away from the home—she only had a month left there before she moved into her dorm, but the time was _crawling_ by. “I’m patient. And I like the challenge. What do you have to lose? Please, let me try. If I’m doing a crap job, it’ll be obvious and you can tell me to leave, and I’ll go. You said yourself you wanted it fixed.”

Han was evaluating her again, like he’d be able to get an idea of her skill level if he stared at her long enough. Rey knew she probably didn’t look up to the task right now, not in her restaurant uniform, her hair tied up in a ribbon, her eyes still a little tired for lack of her morning coffee yet. Matter of fact, she needed to settle this soon or she’d be late to her shift.

“All right,” he said with an air of exasperation. “Fine. Come in Sunday morning for a few hours. Shop’s closed, but I’ll be here starting at eight. So’ll the kid.” He jabbed a thumb in Ben’s direction. This appeared to be news to Ben, who looked about to protest. 

“Hey, no. Han, I’m not coming in on Sun—”

Han kept talking, heedless of the interruption. “We’ll see how you do. That goes well, I’ll give you a crack at it.”

“And when I finish it,” Rey said before Ben could start complaining again, “you’ll let me buy it from you. Right?”

Han sniffed and looked skeptical. “Yeah, yeah, you can buy it.”

“Okay. That sounds good. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still gotta prove to me you can handle it.” He opened a drawer on his side of the desk and rummaged around for a pen. “And it’s not gonna be easy. That’s months of work right there. Here, write your name and where I can contact you. Though don’t expect me to chase you down—you don’t show Sunday, that’s it, I assume you’re not interested.”

“I’m interested,” Rey muttered, taking the pen he offered and scribbling her information on a sheet from the notepad. “My name’s Rey, by the way. I never got to say.”

“Rey.” Han squinted at the words she’d just written, then nodded. “I’m Han. And you know my son, sounds like.”

“Yeah. A bit.” She caught Ben’s eye and he raised his eyebrows at her. He looked irritated. Probably, he was silently blaming her for the fact that he now needed to be here on a weekend when he’d rather be sleeping in. Well, too bad. She was no happier about it than he was. “I’ve got to go. I have work at ten. I’ll be back on Sunday morning. Eight o’clock?”

“Sure, eight o’clock.” Han waved a hand and turned to head back from whence he came, snatching Ben’s hat off his head as he passed him. “You. Kneel mats. Let’s go.”

Ben rolled his eyes mightily and scrubbed a hand through his hair, which had absolutely been sitting under that hat far too long. “See you Sunday, I guess.” Rey could practically hear the undercurrent of _thanks a lot_ in the way he said it. “He’s particular as fuck, you know. He’s not gonna let you finish it.”

Particular as fuck. Right. That seemed like it must be a family trait, but Rey held her tongue. She turned on her heel and headed toward the front door. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

** SEPTEMBER 2008 **

As had become his Sunday custom for the last three weeks, Ben was seated at the corner table next to the cafe window, laptop open, headphones on, pen and a notebook to his left, a copy of Coetzee and a triple espresso to his right. It was only just after two, so he probably wouldn’t regret the espresso later. He might regret not getting this paper written, though. It was due tomorrow, and it wasn’t meant to be too long, so he’d gotten cocky and put it off. Now he found himself utterly unsure how to start. The blinking cursor mocked him from the top of a blank white page.

Frustrated, Ben typed a single word. 

BALLS.

Well, that was a great start. He glanced to his right and noticed someone standing very close to his table. That was pretty annoying. The cafe wasn’t even that busy right now; there were plenty of places to stand that weren’t in his personal space. He frowned and turned back to his screen, then felt a tap on his shoulder.

He lifted one headphone off his ear and threw the intruder a challenging look. “I’m still drinking. This table’s taken.”

Except it wasn’t just any intruder. It was Rey, of all people. He hadn’t seen her in over a month. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, and she’d clearly been getting some sun and maybe not enough sleep, but otherwise she looked the same. Judging by the way she was dressed, and the time and day of the week, she must have been at Han’s shop just before.

“I know. I’m just doing this thing people do called saying hello.” She lifted a hand in sarcastic greeting, a to-go cup capped with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle clutched in the other.

“Oh, hey.” Ben let his headphones slide down around his neck, then shook his head. “I thought you were just some asshole trying to get me to move. It happens.”

Rey rolled her eyes but seemed mostly entertained. “As long as I’m not just some asshole.”

They looked at each other in silence for a few moments as some generic-sounding folk-pop wove its way through the room and the few other customers chatted amongst themselves while they waited to place orders. Rey sipped her mystery beverage, wound up with an upper lip full of whipped cream, and wiped it off on the back of her hand. Ben cleared his throat and pushed back from the table a bit to signal he didn’t mind a break. 

“How’s the car?”

“Good. Just came from the shop, actually. It’s coming along. I might be done sometime in December. Maybe November. You haven’t been there in weeks, though.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you haven’t been there in weeks. But also, the work’s going faster without you yammering at me.” 

She said it almost like she was ribbing a friend, so Ben found it impossible to feel offended. She had a fair enough point, probably. The first Sunday Han had let her come by to try her hand at bringing the Skyhawk back to life, he’d made Ben supervise her. Mostly, Han hadn’t trusted that she wouldn’t botch the whole operation from the get-go and leave the car in worse shape than it already had been. 

Instead, Rey had proved almost preternaturally competent, and Ben had gotten a lot of reading done. She’d come back every Sunday after that with his father’s blessing, and Ben usually showed up for an hour or so to offer her what he considered helpful tips; he hadn’t been exaggerating when he warned her how particular Han was about his methods. Except half the time she just seemed to find his insights annoying, even on those occasions she conceded that the suggestions were sound ones. But he’d stopped showing up by the time the semester started. Penn was just far enough away from the shop that he didn’t feel like making the trip every weekend; plus, he was busy. 

“Glad to be of service,” he told her, bowing his head in mock obeisance. “I hope it’s worth it. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing.”

“Good thing I have no plans to invite you to go for a ride with me.” She pulled out the empty chair opposite him and sat as if he’d invited her to do so. He might have, if she’d asked, even though he also had work to do. “Balls, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your computer screen. I wasn’t snooping, it’s just hard to miss an all-caps ‘balls’.”

Ben chuckled, eyes darting to his screen. He pressed a finger to the backspace key and watched the word disappear—too late for that to make a difference. “Yeah. I’m here to write a paper.”

“I won’t stay long. I’ve got to get to work in a couple hours, was just dropping by here for a pick-me-up. Had a giftcard.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m clearly suffering a lack of inspiration.” 

“Penn’s good, though?”

In the middle of a sip of espresso, Ben bobbed his head in acknowledgment, tipping his free hand back and forth noncommittally. “So far,” he managed after swallowing his coffee a bit too fast. “Some annoying gen ed shit to tick off the list, but it’s good.”

His roommate situation was sort of a nightmare—clashing personalities, to say the least—and the last month had involved a lot of adjusting in other respects, but he couldn’t rightly complain about anything. There were people who would envy his position. “How’s . . .” 

He was going to ask her how her own experience was going, but recalled suddenly that he didn’t know where she was actually attending school. Though her evident proximity to this place narrowed it down considerably.

“Drexel,” she supplied. “I love it, so far. It’s such a refreshing change from the—from home. To make my own schedule. Run my own life. Might pick up a work study at the library next semester. Late hours, time to get some classwork done.”

“Oh. Cool.” Ben was getting one of those weird, imprecise inklings of what her homelife must have been before they graduated. He could still only go off of what little he had pieced together, and whatever extrapolations he’d unavoidably made from there. He didn’t want to ask, and it didn’t seem like she wanted to tell. But it was nice to see she was happy with her current situation, whatever the nature of the one that preceded it.

“I come here to study sometimes, too,” Rey remarked, snapping a lid onto her cup and taking another swig. “Usually take this table.”

Ben was surprised. He’d never seen her here, but then he really only came in once a week for prolonged visits like this. Otherwise it was just in to order a drink and then out again. “It’s the best table. Window, outlets, farthest from the door.” He eyed her meaningfully. “Corner makes it hard for anyone to read your screen.” 

“Hard, but not impossible.” She grinned into her knuckles as she leaned her chin against her fist. “At least you weren’t watching porn.”

“Who the hell would watch porn in the middle of a coffee shop?”

“I’m sure it happens.”

The conversation flagged again, but it didn’t feel like a bad thing. For a minute or two they sat and attended to their own tasks—Ben couldn’t really write with her sitting there, but he reviewed some of his margin notes in the Coetzee and began to pick out some observations that might be worth expanding on, and she seemed satisfied to enjoy her drink and people-watch out the window. He’d half forgotten Rey was there at all when the sound of her chair scraping the floor as she pushed back from the table served an unpleasant reminder.

He glanced up at her as she rose, “Heading out?”

“Yeah, think so. Campus isn’t far but I’ve got to get the smell of exhaust off me or my tips’ll probably suffer.” She pushed her chair back in, lifting it a little to keep it from shrieking again. Ben hadn’t noticed any smells of the auto shop coming off her, but it occurred to him that he was so used to that anyway, even after a month without setting foot there, it would likely have gone right over his head. “It was nice to see you.”

“Same.” To his surprise, Ben found that he meant it. They hadn’t talked much at all, but meeting her by chance had been a pleasant, unexpected part of an otherwise boring day. He was disappointed to see it end so soon. Giving in to impulse, he waved for her attention. “Hey, before you go. Can I give you my number?”

Bemused, Rey cocked her head, eyes narrowing as her mouth twitched uncertainly. “Why?”

“If you need some help with the car again.”

She scoffed, incredulous at his presumption, and leaned to toss her empty cup in the garbage bin. “Still don’t need help. I told you that last time you were there.”

“Fine. If you’re thinking of stopping by here, then, and want to drink coffee and not talk.”

“You don’t need to make up excuses,” she said, rummaging around in her totebag until she came up with her phone. “I don’t mind seeing a familiar face in town every so often. It feels like almost everyone else has fled the city sometimes.”

She sounded sad when she said that, at least he thought so—or like she was sad, but trying not to show it. Without further prompting, she handed her phone over to him so he could enter himself into her contacts list. It was an older flip-phone model, and still had an actual keyboard. Ben had to stare at it for a few seconds to acclimate himself. He’d had an iPhone since last year, so reverting back was a slight irritation, and the keys were tiny even for someone with smaller hands.

When he handed it back, they exchanged goodbyes, and she slipped out the door onto the busy city sidewalk. Through the window, Ben watched her jog over the crosswalk as the digital signal ticked down to zero and disappear around the corner of a convenience store. It took him several minutes to get back on task—for some reason their encounter had left him wondering about the state of the Skyhawk (rusty and shitty and barely operational, probably), about how his parents were doing (he hadn't called or texted in almost two weeks), about whether Rey’s rueful tone suggested she was having as difficult a time making new connections as he was (Phasma really had been good for that in high school, but she had dropped off the radar). 

He had just typed the date and course name at the top of the page when his phone buzzed on the table, rattling against his espresso cup. When Ben flipped it over to check, he didn’t recognize the number, but knew only one person who would have been sending him the message he found there.

_i think i’ll be stopping in to study tuesday nite.  
if ur around let me know. i’ll let u share my table. _

** OCTOBER 2008 **

Rey was certain of two things: this was the most heavily attended public event she had ever been to, and she was very, very glad she was not doing so alone. Actually, make that three things—she was also certain she was drunk off her ass, or very close to it.

The Phillies had won the World Series two days ago, and Rey had nearly lost her mind watching it all go down during a very ecstatic Skype session with Finn. Though there was no one else she would rather have celebrated with, the beers and chips they’d shared remotely that night had been the extent to which they were able to do so. He was several states away and in no place financially to fly home for the Friday parade. Which meant Rey had needed to improvise, because she was _going_ to attend, dammit. Rose, a girl in her program who Rey had been spending a lot of time with, had expressed deep disinterest when Rey hinted at going together; she was from Detroit, and she was not interested in baseball. 

Fine. Rey knew _just_ the person she could get to go with her.

She and Ben had been meeting to study together most Sundays since that chance run-in last month. It was a little like being back to their online chats, but less sporadic and increasingly personal. It turned out he was a good listener, and was handy for a brainstorm. Dare she say it, they were actually becoming friends. The feeling was evidently mutual, because he agreed to go to the parade even as he griped about the likelihood of finding themselves swallowed up and trampled in the din.

So here they were: October 31st, sometime in the early afternoon (probably, she wasn’t sure, she’d lost track of time and couldn't recall what pocket of her jacket she’d dropped her phone into), somewhere on Broad. Maybe. They’d just escaped being crushed in a seething mass of euphoric humanity by wading toward what she had hoped was a slightly less claustrophobic sidewalk. There was no such thing as a truly empty space out here, but there was at least room to move her arms now.

Rey had lost count of how many beers she’d had at this point. With a little patience, it was easy to acquire them—especially for attractive young women, which she was aware she must be, because people had been pressing cans or bottles into her hands for the last few hours. Benevolent, raucous strangers on the streets didn’t care about the fact that anyone was underage. Besides, Ben was here, which meant she’d shared any drinks she had with him, and so could have been much worse off than she was. Between the two of them, they’d stay safe. 

Also between the two of them, they’d had a lot to drink. But that was celebrating, wasn’t it?

“Hey.” 

Or maybe it had been ‘ _Rey_ ’—it was too loud to tell, between the crowds and some bar one building down blasting EDM out its open front doors—but that was Ben’s voice, off to her right. He had a beer in one hand, and something else in his other. It looked like a crumpled up piece of paper towel with a lump in it, but as she drew closer, she narrowed her eyes and peered at it.

“Is that cake?” she asked, immediately envious. 

Where had he gotten _cake_? It looked delicious! Though it also looked sort of like someone had literally ripped a hunk of it from the greater whole with their hand for lack of a knife, which was probably exactly what had happened. The cake was funfetti and the frosting was chocolate, with what must have been a red icing flower of some sort before it had been mangled so terribly. Assuming he’d called her over to share his find, Rey reached for it.

“Hey! No!” 

Ben flinched away, turning his body from her and nearly bowling over another parade-goer who was trying to slip by. Looking affronted by her presumption, Ben stumbled off a few feet, seeking safety in the shade of a narrow alleyway between the bar and a bike shop. Rey pursued him, frowning. Surely, he was going to share that with her. It was cake! The Phillies were world champions! Today was Halloween! All was right in the world, so why wouldn’t he be in a generous mood?

“Where did you get that?” she demanded, hovering in front of him, only dimly aware of how undignified this was and too giddy on beer and festivities to care. “Can I please have some? Please?”

“No.” He looked down at her, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face, and brought the whole messy lump of cake to his mouth. Rey had never seen Ben drunk, but she was pretty sure he was now, because when he pulled his hand away he was laughing like an idiot and seemed heedless of the fact that he had frosting stuck to his chin. “It’s mine.”

“Where did you get it?” she repeated. If he wasn’t going to share, _fine_ , she’d go get her own. A bigger piece. The biggest, the most frosted, the funfettiest. He’d be sorry then.

“Someone was giving it out on the corner,” he said through a full mouth. A wet clump of half-chewed cake landed on the arm of her jacket. God, yes, he was drunk. “S’their birthday or something. S’gone now, probably. You could’ve gotten some, but you were too busy flirting with that douche who gave you the beer.”

There was only one douche here today, as far as Rey was concerned, and that douche’s name was spelled B-E-N-S-O-L-O!

Rey dug around in her tote bag, coming up with the only bargaining chip she could fathom—a bag of fun-size candy bars she’d bought for the occasion—just in time to see Ben helping himself to another absurdly huge bite of cake. He finally wiped the frosting from the first one away with the back of his hand as she brandished the bag. “I’ll trade you some of my candy for it! I just want a bite! You’re being selfish!”

“You want some?” He held the cake aloft and took a step away from her, his back to the bike shop window. “Come and get it.”

She growled and charged him. “C’mon, Ben!” Latching onto his other arm with her free hand, which sloshed some beer out of his bottle and into her hair, she threw her weight against him to shove him messily backward. In the back of her mind, she knew this was profoundly stupid, and wasn’t even certain why she cared so much about getting a piece of warm, squashed cake that had been in Ben’s mouth and the hands of probably at least a few strangers of unknown hygiene. Drunk logic was a hell of a drug. 

Seeing that simply hanging off his arm wasn’t going to accomplish anything—not unless she suddenly acquired the ability to climb him like a tree—Rey released her hold on him and pushed him again with a frustrated grunt, flourished her empty bottle in his general direction, and then started jumping up, flailing as she tried to swat his hand and knock the cake down. Yes, that would probably end up with the cake on the ground; no, Rey had not thought this through.

Meanwhile Ben only found her display to be a source of amusement and was laughing hard enough to be doubled over as he stumbled around. It seemed like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to stay out of her reach or crowd her out enough that she abandoned her pursuit. When he tripped over his own feet and began to fall into her, Rey’s arms shot up protectively. Her reflexes might have been a little slow, but they were working. Maybe too well. She heard a dull clunk and felt her arm connect hard with something solid and in-motion. No, not her arm—the bottom edge of the beer bottle she’d been waving around like a weapon. It was such a rough hit that she tipped back, rattled and sore. Her back hit the brick wall behind her, temporarily knocking the wind out of her but keeping her from falling over as she heard Ben cry out.

“ _Fuck_! Rey, what the fuck did—did you just—!” His cursing morphed into an incoherent snarl, and she heard a wet plop that must have been the cake hitting the concrete, followed by the sound of a bottle shattering. 

Rey let out a long, nervous giggle, still confused but not disappointed by the abrupt end of their struggle. She had one of those vague, beer-buzzed inklings that later she would find this embarrassing. Clearing her throat, she looked over to Ben, who was bent up again with his back to her, his hands pressed to his face. That seemed . . . not right.

“Ben?” She darted over, a little alarmed now. Though it was sort of funny, the way he was standing. “What’s up?”

He turned and let his hands drop, and Rey’s mouth fell open in horror. There was blood smeared all along the right side of his face and still gushing from his eye. Oh God. She’d blinded him. She’d taken his eye out. He was going to bleed out right here on Broad. And here she’d thought they were starting to become friends. Fuck. Shit. Balls, balls, balls.

Okay, no. He still had two eyes, and neither of them was bleeding—she could see that now that the initial shock of the blood had worn off. But there was still _a lot_ of blood, oozing from a cut that bisected his right eyebrow and ended just above it, and the skin around his eye was already bruising. Ben straightened up and looked royally pissed, and equally dazed, but least he’d stopped growling and cursing. He pressed the heel of his hand to the cut again and pulled it away to stare. “What the . . .”

“Oh my God,” she muttered, feeling useless, and sort of terrible. Rey put her bottle down against the wall and straightened up, making as if to touch his face, then faltered and moved away. “I am so sorry. Holy shit. Um. Should we—do you think—” She stared at his face again and grimaced. That looked painful.

“Do you have like . . .” He trailed off and turned away to spit, then winced. “A band-aid or something?”

She had some in her bag, but his eyebrow was split right open. This was going to need more than a band-aid. “Yes. But. You should go to the hospital.”

He hissed, wiping blood away with his sleeve in a largely useless gesture. “Gimme it.”

“It’s not enough. Even if I had a whole box,” she said, handing one over anyway. “You’re bleeding all over the place. Let’s go, I’ll take you to the ER.”

“How? We can barely walk out there, the trains are shut down—forget about a car or getting a cab.” Ben rambled on as he unwrapped the band-aid and went about trying to place it. “It’s a head wound. They all bleed a lot, it’s fine.”

“Here.” Rey grabbed it from him and stuck it as best she could over the cut, but it didn’t do much to help. It was soaked through in less than a minute, to say nothing of the fact that she lacked anything to disinfect the wound with. “There’s an urgent care not far from here. We can walk. No one wants to touch a bleeding dude, they’ll move.”

She actually doubted that, but she had to say something or Ben was going to just go on insisting he was fine and end up with more blood on his face and maybe an infection.

“Oh!” she cried. Rummaging in her bag again, she came up with a sanitary pad and waved it at him before beginning to unwrap it. “This’ll work.”

Ben regarded her with disdain, which would probably have been more irritating to her if he wasn’t squinting as blood leaked into his eye. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

“Those band-aids are doing jack shit. You're just wasting them.” She held the pad out to him. “Hold this over your eyebrow. We're going to the urgent care.” She saw him about to protest. “Shut up and do it.”

Rey was shocked when Ben actually obeyed without complaining further, though he was definitely swearing under his breath nearly the entire time it took them to walk from the alleyway to the urgent care. Unfortunately, that amounted to nearly an hour given the crawl of a pace they had to move at and their inability to actually cross the main street. And as she had feared, when they finally arrived, they were far from alone, which meant that after they signed in, they waited . . . and waited . . . and waited some more.

At the very least, Ben had been able to replace his makeshift bandage with some actual medical gauze shortly after they sat down and in hindsight seemed to find it funny. 

“Thanks for resisting the urge to photograph me like that. Or this,” he told her as they sat in the corner of the waiting room. The plastic chairs were uncomfortable, but after hours on her feet with no space to stretch, Rey was happy to have some relief. “And for getting me here.”

“You’re welcome. On both counts,” she said. Her stomach rumbled conspicuously. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and all she had in her belly right now was alcohol. Figuring they weren’t going anywhere soon, she pulled out her bag of candy bars and helped herself to a Snickers. No use in letting them go uneaten. “It would’ve been shitty of me to leave you when it was half my fault.”

Ben watched her eat for a few moments, one eye half-obscured by gauze, and accepted the bag when she passed it over to him. 

“Only half?” he asked, unwrapping a Milky Way and dropping the bag back into her lap. He was a mess—there was blood dried onto his cheek and jaw and neck, even some in his hair where he had been swiping it out of his eye. The bleeding had ebbed, though, and he was clearly no worse for wear.

“Yes, only half.” She thought he was probably joking, but felt defensive anyway. “I am sorry though. About your face. That’s probably going to scar.”

He shrugged, already poking through the candy bag again in search of more chocolate. “Probably. It’s not a great face anyway, maybe this’ll be an improvement.”

Rey scoffed and swatted his hand away when it lingered too long in the bag and kept her from grabbing a few more bars. She didn’t really have any opinions on Ben’s face, despite very vividly remembering having called him a “goat-faced prick” sometime in their sophomore year. She felt bad about that now, and a lot of things she’d said to him, even if he’d dealt it right back every time and it no longer mattered. Maybe one day she’d apologize for all that stupid shit, too.

“Scars are cool,” she offered by way of compromise.

“Very.” He crammed another Milky Way into his mouth and chewed it quickly, stretching his long legs out and sighing. His brow knitted together as he eyed the paltry magazine selection. “This place sucks.”

She laughed at the obviousness of his statement, leaned forward and planted her elbows on her knees. There was a fuzzy feeling behind her eyes that told her she already had a headache coming on; that still seemed like a better deal than a facial laceration. “You know what else is going to suck—waking up tomorrow morning after all this.”

He groaned and held out his hand for more candy. “Trick-or-fucking-treat.” For a moment he was quiet, his eyes fixed on the clock as he chewed. Then he looked at her askance. “But really. You don’t have to stick around. I’ll grab the bus back to campus when I’m done here.”

“It’s okay. I can stay.” Was he trying to get rid of her? Maybe he really did want to be alone. Maybe he was embarrassed. Rey couldn’t tell. “Unless you want me to go?”

“Not particularly. I’d say if I did.”

She didn’t doubt that. The parade had been fun, but it had drained her, and she’d had her fill of festivity. Bizarrely, she found she preferred this: sitting here with Ben, sharing her junk food, wishing she’d bought herself a soft pretzel when she’d had the chance earlier, wondering how much of a wreck she would feel like tomorrow. Even if waiting with him did waste the rest of her afternoon—it wasn’t a waste.

“Well, good. But I wouldn’t leave a friend here by himself.”

Ben looked amused. “Are we friends now?”

“Yeah, I think so.” 

“So what was this, then? Trial by fire?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you make all your friends bleed?” he clarified, pointing to his face, as if she could possibly miss the damage done.

“Oh. Nope. Not so far.” Rey’s mouth curved into a lopsided grin. Yes, they were friends—she’d just decided. It gave her a good feeling. “Just you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The playlist for this story can be found over at [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/christa.cordero/playlist/6d8DONE0wOAhugyNWgPHh1) \- the tunes just keep coming.
>
>>   
> Last Caress - Misfits  
> Deceptacon - Le Tigre  
> Body Says No - The New Pornographers  
> See You Again - Miley Cyrus  
> Pretty Dress - Rosie Thomas  
> Knights Of Cydonia - Muse  
> Buddy Holly - Weezer


End file.
